


The Honey (Trap) - September to October 2017

by Xuxunette



Series: The Honey (Trap) [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, BDSM, Bottom Severus Snape, Canon Compliant, Dom Harry Potter, Enemas, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Teddy Lupin/Severus Snape, Implied past Bestiality, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Knotting Dildos, M/M, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, References to Drugs, References to Knotting, Severus Snape Lives, Sex Toys, Sub Severus Snape, Top Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29435238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xuxunette/pseuds/Xuxunette
Summary: A series of one shots from Severus' life as a spy adept at sexpionnage.Severus is caught by an unexpected request.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Teddy Lupin/Severus Snape
Series: The Honey (Trap) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149902
Comments: 12
Kudos: 47





	The Honey (Trap) - September to October 2017

**Author's Note:**

> Just to warn you, Harry's use of the Imperiatus on Teddy in this installment may be icky, though not applied to actual sex. This is not non-con.
> 
> This one may also work less well as a one-shot. The context it's the previous installment of the series: _12 September 2017_
> 
> Not-beta read. (Though if you interested, drop me a line!)

_September to October 2017_

Severus found the old-fashioned key in his coat pocket as he was climbing up the neon-lit stairwell to his studio — the lift was out of order again. It joined the envelope on his kitchen counter.

In the ensuing four days, after his encounter with Potter, he refrained from cooking blue meth, K2, molly or smiles; keeping to the concoction of Madame Poiret’s Multipurpose Whiteout (a hit at Slug and Jiggers and the local Spar) when he was at rented storage unit-slash-laboratory. 

Not out of concern, or fear. But to extinguish Potter’s claims to benefaction. The ease with which he had moved close to a ton of muggle intoxicants to the wizarding market in the past few years hadn’t improved his opinion of magical government under the Potter Gang’s rule. In fact, the only brake to the exponential growth of his bank deposit, after Goblin commission for conversion to pounds sterling, had been evading the muggle police.

Although Potter seemed to be under the impression that he was hard up — a compliment to his money laundering skills — he was twenty grand short of being a millionaire and had an island bungalow in mind, once he transferred everything to his offshore account.

It was therefore either curiosity, or masochism — because he had grown old and honest enough to admit that he harboured a deep well of the latter, sexually or otherwise — that made him turn the bronze key to open the purple painted door on the following Tuesday, at 9 p.m.

The house was still deserted, although its front door was no longer spelled detect his approach. The drawing room's Chesterfield had been left uncovered. 

Severus chose to wait in Sirius Black’s old bedroom, on the fourth floor. 

The prospect of fucking Potter in a bed his dead godfather had slept in amused him. The four-poster could come in handy. And the memory of Lily’s letter found there was punishing in itself.

At 9:30, he heard the ring from downstairs.

It rang again and again.

Rolling his eyes at Potter’s pretense that the house was his, he strode to the landing and waved his wand over the bannister, aiming an unlocking charm downward, and retreated to lounge in Sirius Black’s bed.

Potter was in the room a minute later, wearing another set of casual muggle clothes. He was also carrying a canvas rucksack.

Potter surveyed the room that contained only the bed and a sheet-covered dresser, but didn’t comment. 

He nodded at Severus, closed the door behind him, took off his coat, and approached the bed. Without a word, he set the rucksack down on the bare mattress and unzipped it, exposing its content for Severus’ examination.

A bundle of black ropes, something metallic, and phallic toys. 

Severus’ pulse remained completely even. Nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, it was rather tame and squib-like.

Severus looked up into Potter’s eyes and nodded once in turn.

The bespectacled wizard who was wearing a detached expression on his face spoke in a no less detached voice.

“Undress, please.”

Severus couldn’t say that Potter’s controlled demeanour didn’t impress him a tad. 

He shrugged his wand out of his sleeve and vanished his clothes with a lazy flick, going from fully dressed to naked in a split second. 

That got a reaction out of Potter, albeit a small one: the barest dilatation of pupils — easily missed if one hadn’t been observing closely.

Potter set the rucksack down onto the floor, alongside his coat, before saying, “Come here.”

Severus, who had been reclining against the headboard, nudged himself until he was sitting on the edge of the mattress, his legs on either side of Potter’s who stood facing him.

Potter’s hand rose to his neck, stroked the collar there, his expression unreadable.

Severus made to undo Potter’s belt, but Potter pushed his hands away, before returning his fingers to the collar — caressing it.

“You’ll need a safeword,” said Potter.

“I thought you understood the concept of ‘not saying no’,” replied Severus, in a reciprocating detached voice, “That’s why we are here, isn’t it?” 

Again, a dilation of pupils. But Potter insisted.

“Please, pick a safeword.”

“Harry.”

“Yes?”

“That’s my safeword: Harry.”

Something glinted in the bottle-green eyes, but Potter didn’t rise to the bait. He merely nodded.

“Okay.”

It was tame.

Potter made him kneel on the side of the bed with his chest resting on the mattress. His hands were tied up behind his back and his legs were kept spread by the metallic bar secured to his ankles. The toys were used. Covered with condoms and inserted with great care after thorough lubrication, in order of increasing size — but nothing he couldn’t handle. The larger one had been approximately the size of Potter’s cock; fucked into Severus slowly, almost idly. And nothing else. 

Severus still came buckets. 

Potter himself hadn’t touched him beside the bondage and the silent manipulation of toys. When there had been not a single drop of moisture remaining in Severus’ balls, Potter had cleaned him up, like the last time, and had untied him. His wrists and ankles had been examined, a slight soothing charm being cast over them, before Potter left with the rucksack without speaking a word. The entire session that had lasted exactly 3 hours and 4 minutes had been less rough on Severus than when they had actually fucked.

Severus knew what it meant: he had to earn Potter’s cock.

The idea wasn’t daunting. To the contrary. He felt a pang of excitement, like he hadn’t had for a long time at the prospect of goading it out of Potter. Of getting him to drop his Golden Boy facade and spill out what he was really made of: the ugly truth that moved the core.

The ropes were already an indication. An unsurprising one. Despite what he had read on the subject on occasions, every single powerful man he had crossed paths with, and who had taken him on, had been partial to submission — in others. Like a natural extension of the demeanor that put them into power, but without the mask of social conformity that, in a twisted way, existed even amongst Death Eaters. Of course, there were plenty of timid nobodies and wishy-washy wannabes who were inclined thus too. But Potter wasn’t the latter, which made the challenge all the more alluring.

As for blackmail material, just with Potter’s admission to having circumvented the law in order to obtain sexual favors, Severus already had enough to at least take him down with him if The-Boy-Who-Lived ever itched to threaten him again. And there would be no harm in finding out more. 

He had received a draft from his lawyer (and client) of the paperwork for his bungalow purchase when he apparated to 12 Grimmauld Place on the next Monday. 

The routine was the same. Potter wearing muggle clothes. The rucksack, with slightly larger and longer toys. Being tied up and spread. Fucked with silicone, coming bucket. Cleaned up and untied. A soothing charm on his wrist and ankles. Potter leaving without having touched him or spoken a word.

A pattern was emerging, and Severus wasn’t surprised to be shown even larger dildos on Thursday. If he struggled to remain erect, it was still in the realm of the manageable. And Potter wasn’t forceful, grease having replaced the water based lube. He did have a moment of true trepidation, though he forced himself to relax, when Potter traced the rim of his stretched and gaping hole when he had extracted the last toy: several fingers went inside him, and Severus thought he may be fisted. An act he didn’t particularly care for and didn’t think he was prepared enough to endure. But Potter stopped at a light fingering, in an explorative sort of way, before taking great care in cleaning him up with the help of a basin of warm water conjured from thin air. A soothing ointment was added to the mix before Potter untied him and left.

Severus cleansed himself out thoroughly before he disapparated on Monday next, a jar of healing salve of his own device in his pocket.

Both were good ideas. 

The first change was the bench Potter brought (the rucksack having been magically enlarged for the occasion). It was a two storeys affair: a plank of wood directly resting on the floor, another one atop it, inclined at an angle and upheld by metal legs, both upholstered with leather cushions of black color. 

The second change was the toy. It was smaller than what Severus had already taken, but it had an inflatable segment near its base that was linked to a hand pump by a rubber duct, and a large syringe connected to it by a long and thin plastic tube.

The bench was more comfortable than the edge of the bed: his knees were cushioned from the hard floor, and the inclination of the surface on which his torso rested made it easier on his back. Potter tied his hand and feet to the provided hooks, and having his hands fastened to either side of the bench instead of behind his back made it easier on his shoulders too. 

The toy was something else. 

He had already come from being fucked by its shaft, when Potter inserted the inflatable segment into him — the ring of his anus closing snuggly around the skinnier base — and started enlarging it. 

At first the increased pressure felt pleasurable against his sensitized prostate, but Potter kept making it larger until Severus was sure the thing inside him had reached the size of a melon. As slowly as Potter had made the toy expand, he still whimpered and whined uncontrollably and trembled all over. Potter deflated the thing a bit and came beside him to stroke the small of his back in a circular, soothing gesture — the first touch of the sort since their first time together. Then, when he had calmed some, Potter closed his fist around his flaccid prick that was dangling between his spread legs and stroked it.

He was perhaps half erect, the balloon in his rectum not so overwhelmingly painful, when Potter left his cock alone and used the syringe. 

Warm liquid filled him; it went on and on and on — from the corner of his eye he spied Potter refilling the syringe with his wand.

The sensation was indescribable.

His guts were filled to the brim, the fullness triggering involuntary bowel movements that were stopped by the blockage in his rectum, but still made him reflexively clench up to stop shitting himself, which resulted in teeth-aching twinges of pain from the huge toy straining him, that simultaneously sent jolts of electric shocks-like pleasure to his whole body from his over-pressured prostate. 

His heart palpitated in his throat, and he felt like his guts were about to explode.

Cold sweat was covering his whole body and he had lost bladder control when Potter finally stopped pumping liquid into him. 

The younger wizard came closer again to caress him soothingly as he whimpered against the leather cushion. Then Potter jacked him off once more, forcing an orgasm out of him. He heard himself squeal like a pig, tears flowing from his eyes, when he came thrashing in his restraints. 

He passed out.

When he regained his senses, Potter was caressing his face. He could feel that the toy had been deflated, but it was still inside him, and at that point it was nothing but pain: like a shard of glass cutting into his guts.

When Potter saw him open his eyes, the silence that had lasted two weeks was broken.

“Are you ok?” asked the green-eyed wizard who was also a fucking twisted sadist.

Severus moved his head in what he thought might be a nod, though the room had gained a spinning quality and he wasn’t sure which way was up.

“I’m going to take it out now, alright?”

Severus made another movement with his head that was perhaps a nod.

The extraction was as painful as he thought it would be. Potter was careful, but his arsehole felt like mush, with sandpaper being dragged out of it. When it was all out, he tried his hardest to clench his ass tight, but the gluey substance — an approximation of sperm, no doubt — Potter had filled him with still gushed out of his hole, splashing the cushion between his spread legs. His guts churned as he struggled to not let more out. 

“It’s ok, you can let go,” he heard Potter say as a finger lightly traced his anus.

The feather-light touch on his inflamed pucker was all it took; he felt himself expels the content of his guts uncontrollably in burning hot jets, his abdomen cramping up in spasms, his mouth crying out of its own accord in both relief and pain.

The quaking of his arsehole took a long time to calm even after he had emptied himself; Potter had collected everything in a basin and was using another one filled with clear water to clean him. The trickling of room temperature liquid on his backside was soothing, but he was still shivering all over. To his relief he saw through his half-closed eyes that there was no blood mixed with the milk colored substance that had just come out of his arse.

He was dozing on and off collapsed onto the bench when Potter untied him and gathered him in his arms, with the help of a slight levitating spell, to transport him to the bed. 

Potter arranged him to lie on his side, half pressed against Potter’s clothed body, and more care was taken in coating his hole with the salve he had brought. 

Shushing noises were made, with muttered “it’s okay”, “you did good” when he whined from the prickling sensation at his hole as the salve was massaged in. 

A blanket was conjured by magic to cover them, and he felt himself lean into a caress against his face before he fell into slumber.

Potter stayed the night, holding him. Whether the other wizard slept he wasn’t sure, but he felt the shift of the mattress when Potter left, and peeked one eye open to see that the light of dawn was filtering through the sheer curtains.

On the following Thursday, the paperwork had been finalized, and he was the owner of a four-room bungalow in Benguerra, Mozambique — thirty grand over what he had planned to pay, but he had wanted things to move faster.

He still went to Grimmauld. 

Curiosity or masochism.

Potter was on the front step, ringing. Severus was fifteen minutes late.

The younger wizard — windbreaker, sweater, jeans, no rucksack — stepped aside to let him open the door. Severus did, entered, passed the hallway, and ascended the stairs without a word, Potter trailing behind him.

When they were in the bedroom, Severus sat himself on the bed where the duvet still was.

Potter hovered in the doorway before finally closing the door behind him. 

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” said he quietly, as he came to stand close.

Severus didn’t respond.

“You’re not using the house,” continued Potter, “I know it can be trouble to upkeep, now that Kreacher is no longer here, so I wanted you to know the cleaning service is paid for. Regular house-elves for hire, they come in once a week. I think it’s on Wednesday, but you can make other arrangements with them directly.”

Was that chit chat, or grasping at straws?

As Potter rambled on, Severus thought that he may have liked the silent version better.

“Is that a ploy? Not talking to get me to talk? Because it’s working,” Potter tried to joke with an uncertain smile on his face. Then, as Severus still didn’t speak, or react in any way, “We could do something else, if you want. Anything. Or nothing. I could call in for dinner…?”

Severus looked at the younger wizard, who was searching his face. 

Potter was simply letting off a bit, to lull him into a false sense of intimacy and attachment, before bringing in the heavier pain.

Good try, but not good enough. He’d rather go straight to the pain. It’d make for juicier headlines if he ever needed leverage.

He vanished his clothes and went to the bench.

Potter didn’t move for a long time. 

For some reason Severus’ chest panged.

When Potter finally closed in, his hands and feet were tied up tighter than usual.

At last, thought Severus. The mask was slipping. In due time there will be no pretenses left, and he would have Potter exactly where he wanted him. With his soul bare, and all of his dirty secrets spilled. And _not_ in control.

The inflating toy that had been left behind after last session was used again. Severus couldn’t tell if Potter went easier on him, or if he was growing accustomed to it.

When Potter took him to bed, and after the care, he said, “There is someone I’d like you to meet next time.”

Potter didn’t stay the night.

Sharing. Not unusual either. In fact, it was rather the norm for Severus.

Severus couldn’t remember the last time he had been that afraid — Nagini’s bite had been so quick he hadn’t had time to react properly. But the sight of Edward Lupin entering the bedroom followed by Potter on the following Monday frightened the shit out of him. 

He understood instantly: outside the window the moon was full.

Potter closed the door behind him as he usually did, although there was no one beside them in the building, and it appeared clearly to Severus for the first time that the gesture was the symptom of a guilty mind.

The spawn the werewolf had conceived with the metamorphagus, and who bore a startling resemblance to his father, wore a vacant expression as he stood just inside the room. His appearance was inconspicuously human at first glance — a young man wearing joggers and a hoodie — but something _shifted_ beneath his skin: as the orphan looked around as if wondering why he was where he was, the features of his face seemed to go in and out of focus, the colour of his eyes and hair fluctuating in intensity while conserving the same hue, and his complexion subtly oscillating between Caucasian pale and greyish blue.

Edward Lupin took a step forward, and Severus jumped backward on the mattress.

Potter pushed past Lupin’s spawn, and approached the bed to crouch beside it, putting his body between Severus and the creature.

He looked up into Severus’ face and talked as if to a frightened animal.

“It’s okay. He can’t hurt you. I won’t let him,” said Potter.

The bespectacled wizard had his wand out, and Severus understood that Edward Lupin was under Imperiatus.

“And he isn’t. A werewolf, I mean,” continued Potter, “Not really. He doesn’t go through the full transformation. The metamorphmagus gene in him is stronger.”

Potter slowly stood up and sat on the edge of the bed as Severus’ eyes darted from Potter’s face to that of Lupin’s spawn’s, before he carried on, “He doesn’t bite, or hurt people. On purpose. He’s not contagious either. But he is… a little out of his mind, when the moon is full. He… he has urges.”

Severus, who had his wand out and trailed on the creature, stared at Potter at the last word.

His incredulity must have shown because Potter was cowering under his gaze.

There. The money. Potter’s dirty secret. Not just a run-of-the-mill variation on sadistic penchants, which already had been heady and empowering enough to uncover. But a real public reputation destroying, social life ending involvement with his own godson.

It exceeded his expectation. He had to find out more.

Keeping his wand aimed, he straightened from his crouching position to sit back on his heels atop the bed, Potter’s body still a shield between him and the creature who hadn’t moved further — standing where he was and slightly swaying on his feet.

“Urges, as in mating urges?” asked Severus.

Werewolves were infamous for their savage sexual appetites. A reason the Dark Lord had kept them; for the terror they inspired. And the reason so many of the beasts had joined the Dark Lord’s troops.

Potter bit his bottom lips but didn’t look away.

“Yes,” answered he.

“And you wish for me to satisfy those urges?” asked Severus.

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” said Potter, stating the obvious. “I usually keep him locked when he’s like that. Since after he became sexually mature, I mean. But it hurts him. He is not right in his head after having been… deprived. And it makes the wolf stronger in him when the moon’s not full.”

Potter looked embarrassed as he told his story, but also relieved to let it out.

Severus listened on, morbidly captivated.

“It’s difficult for him to find a partner because the 'son of a werewolf' thing freaks people out — though he’s harmless, I promise. Mostly. And also because of the way he gets."

There was a pause with more bitten bottom lips, before Potter continued.

"He... is… wild, when the moon is full. Impulsive, sorta. And a bit... uncough. Forceful, I guess you could say. And… And some of his anatomy change. The metamorphmagus in him keeps most of it under control, but he can’t help… some things.”

Potter suddenly stood up from the bed, and Severus startled again.

“It’s ok, I’m not gonna do anything,” reassured the green-eyed nutter, hastily “I just want to show you what I’m talking about. So you can see for yourself that it’s not… not that bad. You don’t have to do anything. I hadn’t planned for anything. I just wanted to… introduce him to you. So you can make up your mind. He won’t remember it if you refuse.”

With that, under Severus’ flabbergasted eyes, Potter moved to stand beside his godson. And, with a wave of his wand, lowered the front of the black joggers and underwear the young man wore, just enough to expose Edward Lupin’s genitals.

It explained the inflating dildo. 

The human-looking creature had a canine penis, complete with a _bulbus glandis that was_ visible in its state of partial tumescence, though no stimulation was being applied to it.

No foubt feeling that he had been divested of his clothes — or perhaps thinking that he may get some, who knew — Edward Lupin looked down at himself, and made uncertain, jerky movements with his arms despite the Imperiatus.

Potter waved and flicked his wand again, and the creature was decent and immobile once more.

“I usually let him get some relief using a sort of doll,” went on Potter. “I had something constructed. Because when I just keep him locked in a room without the Imperiatus, he howls and trashes things sometimes. From... not getting his needs met, you see. But it doesn’t… sate him. Not really. It’s like he can sense it’s not real.”

Potter paused before squaring his shoulders and adding, “You can take him. He’s smaller than what we already did.”

Severus couldn’t believe his ears. 

First, it confirmed his deduction that Potter had wanted something so dark he couldn’t just ask anybody. Asking for his _help,_ indeed. To fuck a _werewolf_. Or half-werewolf, whatever.

Second, the whole story was pure gold. So sordid, it was a goldmine and its processing factory. Potter keeping quiet his godson’s beastly nature by putting together sophisticated contraptions, then devising convoluted schemes so that the sorry beast could get some because the first wasn’t enough. Not to mention the use of the Imperiatus and the dick show.

Armed with all of that, he could not only annihilate Potter’s life, he could annihilate his godson’s too, which would, he knew it, hurt Potter even more. And, truly, he deserved it, after asking _that_ of him. Potter _knew_ his history with Lupin. The fucking _nerves_.

“It’s one thing to do what we have done, Potter,” replied he, while careful not to let his emotions show. “Asking me to take on a beast is another entirely.”

“He’s not a beast!” exclaimed Potter, “And it’s not as if you…!” 

Potter stopped himself before saying something that Severus would make him regret, permanently.

The green-eyed wizard took some time to recompose himself, before coming to sit on the edge of the bed again.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have raised my voice,” said he, looking guileless again. “Thank you for hearing me out at all. It’s been stressful. The situation with Teddy, I mean. Magical folks are really afraid of lycanthropy, though he’s not an actual werewolf. And involving someone who’s Muggle would violate the Status of Secrecy. He is hurting. And he has almost hurt someone once. Hagrid stopped him in time, but just. It almost got him expelled in his 7th year. We make do, but I can’t always be there to imperio him. And it’s taxing him. He’s been on antidepressants since he tried mutilating himself last year, but it doesn’t help much. It weakens the metamorphmagus in him too. You’ve seen how his skin crawls with it, it’s almost constant now. I’m afraid he may turn into a true werewolf.”

“Wolfsbane, Potter,” stated Severus, out of reflex. “Why not make him drink it? Like the rest of them. Or is it not good enough for the Great Harry Potter’s godson?”

Potter visibly winced, as if lashed by his words.

“We tried it. It doesn’t work,” responded he. “It’s poisonous to him. To his metamorphmagus side. Makes him sick as hell. That’s why I’m so afraid he’ll turn fully. He may not have an option to ease the change.”

Credible. Aconite was a potent neurotoxin. And the dosage needed to brew the Wolfsbane with it, as its chief ingredient, was high enough to poison any normal folk without a werewolf’s metabolism to sustain it. It was also very probable that aconitine’s effect on cellular depolarization interfered adversely with the metamorphmagus’ catabolic processes that enabled shapeshifting.

Still, the _gall_.

“So, you thought you’d ask me to ‘help’ you out with your little problem,” replied Severus, evenly. “Because my standards are low enough, I’d accept anything.”

“Wh—No! I asked you because I trust you!” protested Potter, looking genuine. “And because… Because I thought you may... not object to it…” 

Potter paused once more before speaking again, in a smaller, but deeper and more controlled voice.

“I’ll make sure nothing happens to you, Severus. You’ll be very safe.”

Severus wanted to laugh into Potter’s face. Or jinx him. Maybe a swift Avada.

But he didn't.

“Let me think about it,” said he instead.

  
  
  



End file.
